


The Way to a Man’s Heart

by eugyne (AreteNike)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Hunk (Voltron), Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Language Barrier, M/M, yeah thats pretty much all you need to know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 01:11:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13376955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AreteNike/pseuds/eugyne
Summary: In retrospect, Keith really should have known that sheltering an alien would turn his life upside-down.Written for the Aphelion fanfic zine!





	The Way to a Man’s Heart

**Author's Note:**

> AW FUCK I MISSED HUNKS BIRTHDAY :(((((

Not for the first time, Keith wishes he could afford at the very least a fucking _bike._

But parking costs money he can't spare, and bicycles just get stolen; so, here he is, walking home from work at 11pm in the chill of not-quite-spring. He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets and huffs out a cloud of steam; his fingers close around the knife in his pocket. It's not exactly a nice neighborhood, but he's usually left alone.

"You just have this… fighty aura," Pidge told him once, which means something: auras are _generally_ out of the range of her interests, but not by much. And she wasn’t really _wrong_.

He's just prepared, okay? And alert.

Which is why, when he hears a rustle in the dark alley he's just passed, he spins and holds out his knife, ready for the incoming attack.

Except none comes, which isn't that unusual. He _has_ been known to pull his knife on raccoons and stray cats. So he tentatively peers into the alley, to ascertain whether there really is a threat or not.

There's a shape in the shadows, definitely bigger than a cat. He lifts his knife a little higher. It could just be some homeless guy—in which case he can spare a couple bucks, least he can do for pulling a knife on the poor sap.

"Who's there?" he asks, loud enough to be heard but not a full shout. This street's pretty empty, but there's a main street a block down that's rarely deserted even at this time of night. No need for him to scare anyone just yet.

The shape jumps at the sound of his voice, and twists around. It's still in the shadows but it looks vaguely humanoid—a little too large and lumpy, though. He tightens his grip on his knife as it takes a step forward.

The face that greets him is a dull yellow, large black eyes like the aliens on all of Pidge's favorite shirts, no nose or mouth to speak of but odd slits down its face where they should be. _Shit._ Keith yelps and stumbles back off the curb, falling heavily on his ass but keeping a tight grip on his knife, by god if he's going to be eaten by some kind of extraterrestrial monster he's at least going to put up a fight—

He blinks up at the _thing_ , though, and it changes, body seeming to converge in on itself and rapidly changing color. In moments where there had been a monster, now stands a man—a pretty handsome man, actually, with brown skin, shaggy black hair, and the only indications that he was inhuman seconds earlier are a pair of slightly pointed ears and marks of the same dull yellow under his eyes. His stature is still much larger than Keith’s, but not unreasonably so, and his clothes are a near perfect match to Keith's—black jeans, sneakers, ratty black leather jacket.

"What the fuck," says Keith.

The thing says something—it's clearly words, just not any language Keith recognizes, and lifts his open hands in a recognizably placating gesture. He nods a couple of times, though his expression doesn't change much. Keith frowns at him.

"What are you?" he asks.

The thing responds with more gibberish and tilts his head. It would be cute, if he hadn't been a half-faceless yellow monster a minute ago. Slowly, Keith stands, still keeping his knife pointed forward—the thing shies away from it, and waves his empty hands insistently. Keith doesn't put the knife away yet, but he does switch it to his other hand; he's almost ambidextrous anyway.

"You an alien?" he asks. He points up at the sky, brings his finger down to point at the ground.

The thing kinda perks up—actually, Keith could swear he glows slightly—and says more rapid gibberish. He points at the sky too, and to the ground, then gestures widely around him before tapping one ear, wrapping a hand around his opposite bicep, and tilting his head questioningly.

"I have no idea what you're trying to tell me," says Keith.

The thing huffs and repeats the movements, this time also miming a rectangle in front of him and waving a finger around like a wand, talking all the while. It does not make whatever he wants any clearer.

"Okay, let's try this," Keith says, finally putting the knife away. The thing probably would've tried to eat him by now if he was planning to, right? He taps his chest and says clearly, "Keith. Keeeeith."

The thing hesitates for a moment, but he seems to get it, for he taps his own chest and says, "Hunk."

Keith has to fight a grin at that. This alien or whatever takes the form of a beefy, handsome man, and his name is _Hunk?_ Fitting.

Hunk imitates his strained smile back at him, and probably does a better job of it.

"Hunk," says Keith, and holds out a hand. "Nice to meet you."

Hunk looks down at his hand, and bumps the back of it with his. Close enough.

"Keef." And more gibberish. Keith nods along.

Pidge is going to be _livid_ when she finds out he made first contact instead of her. He can't wait.

* * *

The alien (maybe?) trails uncertainly after him when Keith continues back to his apartment. He supposes he'd do the same, if he landed on an unfamiliar planet and found someone reasonably friendly; if this guy was rummaging through trash in an alleyway, he probably doesn't have anywhere to go. So Keith holds the apartment building door open for him, and when Hunk gives him a smile and a nod, he nods back.

Granted, letting a shapeshifting alien that he can't even talk to into his home may not be the _smartest_ decision, but it feels like the right thing to do, and anyway it's kind of too late to change his mind. He unlocks his door and gestures Hunk in, and points him to the couch, and… well, shit, he doesn't really know what to do now. Call the police? Who's he supposed to get in contact with when the emergency is _aliens?_

His instincts tell him Pidge. Which… is probably a good choice. If anyone will know what to do, it's her. So while Hunk examines the old magazines and abandoned takeout containers littering his living space, he pulls out his phone and calls Pidge. It's not like she's asleep at this time of night.

Her phone goes to voicemail the first time, but she picks up the second.

"Is it important? I'm busy," she says in lieu of a greeting.

"Yes," says Keith. "There's an alien in my apartment."

There's a long pause. He imagines she's weighing the improbability of the statement against the fact that he's a godawful liar.

"You better not be fucking with me," she says finally.

"Nope."

"Are you in danger?"

"Nope. He's just sitting on my couch. I found him in an alley." He watches Hunk pick up a magazine and flip through it, apparently fascinated by the floppiness of the pages.

"You're _sure_ he's an alien."

"Well he definitely isn't human."

"What has he said to you?"

"Just gibberish."

"I'm coming over." And she hangs up. Keith sighs, sheds his jacket, and flops into the old beanbag chair Lance foisted off on him when he graduated. He's still tired and achy from his shift, but he can't exactly pass out fully clothed on his bed like usual. Not with his current company.

Speaking of. He looks over at Hunk, who's surreptitiously glancing over at him between examining the magazine—an old issue of Popular Science, left here by Pidge, from the looks of it. Keith never buys shit, he just gets all the refuse from his friends.

"I called my friend," he says, holding up his phone and waving it a little. "She's going to come here." He points to the floor. "And do her coding thing." He mimes typing on a keyboard. "So maybe we…" He gestures between the two of them. "…can actually talk to each other." He moves his hand in a talking motion. "So we can figure out what you are and why you're here."

Hunk is staring at him blankly. He kind of squints a little—maybe he's getting better at making expressions, though admittedly Keith isn't the best teacher for that—and nods slowly.

"You have no idea what I said, do you."

Hunk continues nodding.

"Oh well." Keith sighs and throws his head back for a moment, then grunts and struggles up out of the beanbag chair. "You hungry?"

Hunk makes a questioning noise. Keith traipses over into the kitchen half of the room and pulls open the fridge.

"We've got… leftover Indian, leftover Chinese, and leftover…" He pulls out a tupperware and tilts it, trying to see inside. "Whatever this is. I think it's Pidge's mom's meatloaf from a week ago."

Hunk doesn't say anything, which, you know, fair.

"I guess I probably shouldn't subject you to that. I shouldn't poison the first alien to make contact with humanity." He frowns at the tupperware, then sticks it back in the fridge. "Personally, I want the curry, so you can have the lo mein." He takes both containers out and puts them in the microwave for a couple minutes, and leans back against the counter while they heat up. There's no real reason to narrate his actions, he realizes, given Hunk doesn't understand him, but he feels like he has to explain himself anyway. Just doing things without saying anything seems wrong somehow. Like he'll scare his guest.

Like his guest didn't scare the shit out of him. He sighs, and the microwave beeps, so he retrieves the food and a couple of forks and heads back over to the couch. He offers the lo mein to Hunk.

"Dunno if you _can_ eat this, but you'd know better than me," he says.

Hunk looks between him and the food a couple of times before gently taking it and lifting it to his face. He sniffs a couple of times, and his nose wrinkles, but evidently he decides it won't kill him because he takes the fork Keith is holding out to him and digs in. Keith sinks back into the beanbag chair to enjoy his curry.

He's more or less done—and Hunk has abandoned the lo mein, either not hungry or unwilling to stomach any more—when the doorbell buzzes. Keith huffs and scrambles back out of the beanbag and presses the intercom button.

"Pidge?"

"Duh."

He hits the button to let her into the building. In a minute, she knocks, and he opens the door to find her puffing as though she'd run all the way up the stairs. Which, all things considered, wouldn't surprise him.

"Where is he?" she asks, and Keith points.

She pushes past him into the apartment to see. Hunk, already looking up at the commotion, watches her approach, squinting slightly again.

"Wow," Pidge breathes. "Hi." She waves a hand a little, and Hunk furrows his brow and returns the gesture.

"His name is Hunk," Keith says, and Hunk glances over at him at the sound of his name. Pidge snorts.

"Did you name him that yourself?"

"No, that's actually his name." Now Keith makes eye contact with Hunk, and points to Pidge. "Pidge."

Pidge nods and points a thumb at herself. "Pidge."

"Pidge," Hunk repeats, and points to himself. "Hunk." He lifts a hand out, and Pidge takes it and gives it a cursory shake before taking off her backpack and sitting down on the couch to rummage through it. Hunk, meanwhile, looks down at his hand in evident confusion, and squints over at Keith; Keith nods and mimes shaking hands. Hunk's mouth flattens out and he lowers his hand again sheepishly.

Maybe Keith should have taught him about shaking hands right from the start. Oh well.

"Okay," Pidge says. She's got her laptop on her knees and is already tapping at the keyboard. "Language problem first. I think I have an algorithm lying around that can figure out how to translate it, given enough data."

"Just… lying around? Where did you get something like that?"

"Stole it from Google."

"Of course."

"Added my own improvements, too." She turns to Hunk, and shows him the screen; he peers at it curiously. "I need you to talk. Like, a lot. I've got a mic, see?" She taps a spot on the laptop's keyboard.

Hunk prods the spot too. He says something as Keith wanders closer to watch.

"Yeah, keep going." Pidge gestures for more.

Hunk brightens up and makes some sort of exclamation, and then holds out a hand; his palm seems to unfold for a second, and then he's lifting some sort of chip from it. Pidge makes a face.

"That was… weird. What is that?"

Hunk says something, and places the chip on the keyboard. The screen flashes—and Pidge looks seriously alarmed—and then a new window pops up with some sort of data scrolling through it. Pidge's eyebrows slowly lift to her hairline.

"Universal backwards compatibility," she whispers. "Aliens truly are superior."

"What?"

"Nothing. Hang on, if he understood what I'm trying to do here he may have just given me a dictionary."

"Hm." Keith stops craning over her shoulder—it's not like he understands any of what she's doing anyway—and settles back into his beanbag chair. He closes his eyes.

It feels like only moments later that someone's kicking him repeatedly.

"Wake up, you lazy ass," Pidge is saying. "I got the translator to work."

"Muh?"

Hunk says something as Keith sits up blearily. Pidge taps the spacebar on her laptop triumphantly.

"Thank you for taking me in," the computer says in a synthesized voice. "But your food is terrible."

Hunk is watching him intently, unmoving. Keith blinks, and then a giggle escapes him; he covers his mouth with his hand to try and smother it but it grows into a full on chuckle instead. Pidge is grinning widely, and slowly, Hunk does too.

"Oh, god," Keith says finally. "Of course it's terrible, it's leftover takeout."

Pidge hits the spacebar again. This time when the computer speaks, it's in the same language as Hunk speaks. He listens intently, face falling into a sort of horrified shock—he really has gotten better with facial expressions, did Pidge teach him? How long was Keith out?

Then Hunk speaks again, and the computer says, "No wonder you are so small."

"Hey!" Keith leans forward, as much as he can in the beanbag chair. "I'm not that small. I work out, see?" He lifts an arm and flexes.

While the computer translates his words, Hunk mimics the motion. His arms are… upsettingly buff.

"That's not fair," Keith grumbles. The computer doesn't translate this time, but Hunk grins anyway.

"For the record, he thinks I'm a child," says Pidge.

"You _are_ a child."

"I'm sixteen!"

"Baby."

She throws his jacket at him, and he deflects it easily, laughing. Once he's settled again, though, jacket in his lap, he remembers the reason he called Pidge here in the first place.

"Did you ask him why he's here?" he asks.

"Ah, no. He wanted to wait for you to wake back up. It's almost sunrise, by the way."

"You've been up _all night?_ "

"You say that like I don't do it all the time." Pidge crosses her arms. "I did take a nap while the algorithm was running, and so did he."

"You have school in a few hours."

"Hence the nap."

Keith sighs. It's not like he's any better at taking care of himself. "Okay," he says, and turns to Hunk. "Why are you here?"

The computer translates, and Hunk frowns. He speaks slowly, reluctantly.

"I was exiled," says the computer.

Well, shit, did Keith take in a _criminal?_ Even Pidge looks concerned.

"Why?" he asks, echoed by the computer.

Hunk takes a moment to respond, but he does, with a rapid and lengthy speech. Keith waits impatiently as the computer takes a moment to translate.

"I was framed," it says finally. "I was accused of sabotaging a city machine, because I was an apprentice who worked on them. I was too new so it was easy to blame me, but I didn't do it. It was treason. They exiled me instead of execution because I'm young and they couldn't prove it for sure. But one of the older workers did it, and he's the one that blamed me in the first place! So they just believed him, because who would believe an apprentice over a master? They could change their minds, but they don't undo exile often, and even if they did, how are they going to find me? I'm stuck here."

Keith sits back. He doesn't know what a "city machine" is but it seems to be pretty important if they'd kill someone over it. More to the point, Hunk is clearly pretty upset about it, though whether they can trust any of his body language or not is up for debate, considering he's not human.

"That sucks," he says, for lack of any more insightful comment. He's not sure how the computer handles translating slang, but it must come across in some form, because Hunk's face scrunches up into a small, reluctant grin, and he nods back at Keith.

"What are you going to do?" asks Pidge, and the grin drops.

"I don't know," the computer translates. "I want revenge. But the pod I arrived in is damaged and too weak to reach escape velocity anyway."

"So you're really, really stuck here," says Pidge, and Hunk nods.

"I dunno about long term," Keith says, as he tries and fails to escape the beanbag chair's clutches. "But you can stay here for the time being, until you figure out what to do."

"Aww," says Pidge as the computer translates. She takes pity on him and climbs over the coffee table to help him up. It takes a lot of huffing and grunting but he does finally stagger to his feet.

Hunk's response comes even as he watches their antics with bemusement. "Thank you," says the computer.

Then he frowns at it. "Fff… fank… you?" he tries.

"Eyy!" cheers Pidge, and Hunk grins in response. Keith can't help a little smile, either. Won't that be an achievement, if they can teach the alien English!

"D'you think you can put that translation thing on my phone, Pidge?" he asks.

"It's kinda big. Do you still have that knockoff iPod Shiro gave you?"

"…I think so." And Keith heads off to find it, because Hunk doesn't speak English _yet_ , and if they're going to be roommates for the time being then it'll be nice to actually be able to talk to him.

* * *

Over the course of a few weeks, Hunk settles in. He picks up a decent vocabulary pretty quickly—not so much grammar, yet, but at the very least with "food" and "water" and "tired" he can communicate his needs without going through the fake iPod for every little thing. He also turns out to be a talented chef—or so Keith finds out, when he comes home from work two days in to find Hunk has prepared the best meal he's had in years from the meager contents of his kitchen. He starts actually going to the grocery store, and buying occasional produce, at Hunk's insistence.

"Too small," Hunk tells him frequently, holding up his hands to mime how skinny Keith is.

"I am _not,_ " says Keith, to which Hunk's usual response is to swoop in and pick him right up off the ground, and give him a stern look as he dangles there. Hunk has absolutely no regard for personal space and Keith is too touch-starved to mind much.

"Money," Keith will then remind him, and Hunk will put him down with a sigh. Because they both know that Hunk's presence there is putting a strain on Keith's wallet. It's not like the landlord cares that he's there, so long as rent gets paid (and Hunk doesn't really leave the apartment anyway, which Keith kind of feels bad about, but the guy stands out), but he's still an extra mouth to feed.

That said, when Keith comes home one night and Hunk grins at him and offers him a stack of cash, he can't find it in him to just accept it without grabbing the fake iPod and asking where the hell it came from.

"I saw a flyer downstairs. The garage down the street is looking for mechanics," comes the translation. "I told them I can't speak well but I can fix anything. They let me prove it, and now I have a job." Hunk grins.

So they're probably paying him under the table, and they probably think he's an illegal immigrant—which isn't _wrong_ , really—but at least he didn't outright steal the money. And apparently his odd looks weren't too concerning.

"Okay," says Keith. "Good job, I guess. Thanks."

Hunk beams. "Yes."

Keith flips through the bundle of money. It's not bad—he has no idea if they're underpaying Hunk or not, but this amount should cover them for groceries for a while, if he's economical about it. And he is, because he's been living on scraps all this time. That his roommate is gonna bring in a little extra money probably won't change that anytime soon.

That Hunk can apparently leave the apartment without too much drama, though, gives him an idea. And he's got a full day off next week.

"Hey," he says. "Hunk. Do you wanna go grocery shopping?"

* * *

Hunk lights up (literally) the moment he walks into the grocery store. It's not even a particularly big or nice one; it's the local corner grocery, not even a chain, so the selection is pretty small. That doesn't seem to matter, though, because Hunk looks around almost reverently before rushing over to the nearest table of produce and picking something up to show it to Keith.

"What's this?" he asks.

"That's an avocado," says Keith.

"Avocado," Hunk repeats, and puts it back, only to pick up another thing. "What's this?"

"Apple."

"Apple. What's that?"

"Uh, cabbage."

"Cabbage."

They go through the whole produce section like this, with Hunk pointing and poking and examining everything he comes across. He even tastes a few things, a green bean here, a grape there. Occasionally he'll sniff something, frown at it, then nod to himself and hand it to Keith to be put in their basket, and Keith can only imagine what he's planning to make from this selection.

He kind of thinks he ought to be annoyed by the constant questions, too, but instead Hunk's enthusiasm is somehow kind of… endearing? Even as the handful of strangers near them stare, Keith finds himself grinning every time Hunk turns to him with a new fruit or vegetable to present.

"Well, well," says a familiar voice, and just like that Keith's good mood is gone along with his smile. "Found yourself a new man? Seems a little lacking in the brains department, isn't he?"

Keith turns slowly and crosses his arms over his basket. "Rolo. You're one to talk."

Rolo smirks, undeterred. "I think I have the advantage over a grown man running around like a toddler. Thought you preferred brains over brawn, but I guess not, huh?"

"Actually, he's both. He didn't speak a word of English a month ago; I doubt you could do better."

"Well, I'm sure I don't speak whatever the hell he does," says Rolo, "but I don't think I'd be getting all hot and bothered over a banana display no matter what language they're in." He nods over to where Hunk has a hand of bananas in each hand; he lifts one up to sniff it as they watch.

"Right, I forgot you're incapable of positive emotions," says Keith. "Joy, for instance, or basically any kind of affection? Fuck off, Rolo."

"Hey, hey now, don't be like that." Rolo's voice adopts a slimy tone that's all too familiar. "We had fun, didn't we?"

"You were just trying to fuck me over." Keith glares at him, but unfortunately, Rolo is immune.

"Wrong," he says with a grin that borders on a sneer. "I was trying to fuck you."

Keith huffs. "You're disgusting," he says, and turns to go join Hunk by the bananas. Rolo catches his arm.

"C'mon, babe, it was a joke," he says.

"Don't you _dare_ call me that." Keith spins on him, keeping a tight grip on his basket with both hands so he doesn't slip up and wallop him. Not that he doesn't deserve it. "Fuck. Off."

"Keith, darling, sugar, come on. We were so good together. How could you forget?" Rolo sidles closer, and Keith backs up into the squash display. "Let me remind you."

"Get the _fuck_ away from me." Keith shoves him back with his basket, making Rolo stumble, and turns and leaves again though he _desperately_ wants to punch his lights out. Rolo grabs his arm again anyway and Keith clings to his basket with a white-knuckled grip because he _knows_ socking the guy would lead to more trouble, but god he _wants_ to—

"Keef?"

He freezes. Hunk has returned to him, a single head of broccoli in hand. Rolo is looking up at him with a frown, clearly annoyed.

"Hunk," Keith says, strangled. Hunk frowns between the two of them, and then he gently tugs Keith away, pulling him against him and resting his hands on Keith's shoulders protectively.

"Who are you?" he asks Rolo. Keith can feel the rumble of his voice against his back.

"Who, me?" Rolo's face slides back into an easy smirk. "The name's Rolo, and if you don't mind, Keith and I were in the middle of a conversation. That you interrupted. Rudely, I might add."

"Go away," says Hunk. Keith's pretty sure he didn't understand everything Rolo said, but he probably got the jist. He leans back a little more and puts his free hand over one of Hunk's gratefully.

"It was just a conversation. Go back to drooling over cucumbers or whatever." Rolo waves a hand. Hunk's grip tightens.

"Go away. Keef doesn't like you."

"Now, that's not true."

"It's true," says Keith. "I _don't_ like you. You heard him, go away."

"C'mon, babe—"

Hunk's grip on Keith's shoulders changes, and he makes a noise like a growl. Rolo swears and stumbles back, suddenly deathly pale. And then he runs off, still cursing, and Keith gently pulls away from Hunk to look up at him. He looks like himself, but a little sheepish.

"What did you do?" he asks nervously. A cursory glance around the produce sections shows him that a number of other shoppers are staring at them too, and a few are backing away.

Hunk opens his mouth and shuts it again, apparently unable to explain in English. He shrugs. Keith sighs; he's pretty sure he knows, anyway.

"Go wait outside, okay?" he says, and points toward the door. "I'll buy this stuff and be right out."

Hunk pouts, but he shuffles off toward the door, and Keith forgoes the rest of the store to hurry straight to the checkout. He can stock up properly later, but right now he needs to get Hunk home and out of the public eye. And maybe explain to him that humans are generally pretty freaked out by misshapen yellow people growling at them.

The cashier eyes him nervously—she's got a good view of produce from here—and only speaks to tell him how much he owes. She packs his food at record speed and turns to the next customer before he's even reached for his bags.

No less than five police cars come blaring into the parking lot the moment he steps out the door.

Keith freezes for a moment; then, it what may turn out to be the worst decision he's made yet, he hurries to Hunk's side. Hunk isn't even looking at the police cars, though, because he's looking up into the sky; when Keith follows his gaze, he sees a number of dark specks in the sky. They're rapidly growing bigger, closer.

"What's that?" he asks nervously, as the police cars pull into a semicircle around them, trapping them against the supermarket's exterior.

Hunk points at the specks. "From home," he says darkly. Shit. It's not bad enough there's human police here, but there are _alien_ ones on the way, too. God he wishes he'd brought the fake iPod.

When he looks down again, he finds several guns pointed at Hunk. _Shit._

"Step away from the alien!" one of the police officers calls. Keith shifts in front of Hunk instead, who's still watching the sky, apparently oblivious to the commotion around him—or else simply ignoring it.

"Hunk," he mutters. "Don't move."

Hunk nudges his back. "From _home_ ," he says insistently.

" _Police_ ," Keith returns through gritted teeth. "Stay behind me, they want to hurt you."

He looks over his shoulder; that comment finally got Hunk to look down, and now he's frowning at the cars around them.

"Why?"

"Because you shapeshifted in the middle of the supermarket. People saw you."

Hunk's brow furrows. Keith turns more fully.

"You." He points. "Were all big and yellow." He spreads his hands, then taps his face. "You didn't look human. You scared people."

"There was… bad man," Hunk says. The police are yelling again, but both ignore them.

"Yes, but there were other people, too. Lots of people in the store. You scared everyone."

Hunk frowns. He doesn't look particularly remorseful; he just turns his gaze upward again, and his expression hardens.

"People from home are bad, too," he says, and starts moving forward.

Immediately there are shouts from the police, and Keith drops the groceries and pushes back against Hunk with all his weight, trying to keep him in place.

"No!" he says. "No, they're going to shoot you, stay put, Hunk!"

"They… exiled… me." Hunk is still making slow progress forward; he's so much stronger than Keith, and even pushing against him with all his might Keith can't keep him in place.

"Hunk, you can't hurt them!" Keith shouts practically into his chest. "If you hurt them you can't go home! Think!"

Hunk slows a little.

"They hurt me," he says.

"Listen, listen. Revenge is bad." Shit, does he even know that word? "Hurting people because they hurt you. It's not good. It's not worth it. It doesn't fix anything. I know. I want to, too. But it doesn't help."

Hunk stops. Keith slumps against him, spent.

"Do you understand?" he asks, muffled. "Hurting them won't help you go home."

"I don't like it," Hunk says finally.

"I know, I know."

"…Sorry." Hunk lifts his arms and wraps them loosely around Keith, and pats his back. Keith lets out a _long_ sigh.

"Sir? Sir!" Right, the police. "Are you okay!?"

Keith lifts his head a bit, turns it to see the nearest policeman. He's not holding a gun, and is approaching them slowly with lifted, empty hands; everyone behind him, though, still has their guns out and trained on the two of them.

"I'm fine!" he calls back. "He's not gonna hurt anyone. He's harmless."

The policeman hesitates. Yeah, given what they've heard of Hunk—and his actions just now—that probably seems ridiculous.

"We heard a report that a monster attacked someone." The man gestures slightly to Hunk. "He matches the description."

Keith straightens up a little more, though he's still pressed against Hunk's chest. "He didn't attack anyone!" he shouts over the commotion, and the growing hum of the approaching ships. "He just scared him off. He was protecting me. He didn't hurt anyone!"

The man watches him for a moment. Then he slowly reaches down and unclips his radio, to mutter lowly into it. Keith looks back up at Hunk, and pats at his hip because that's what he can most easily reach from this angle.

"Thanks, by the way," he says.

Hunk glances down at him, and smiles. "Yes," he says. "I protect you. I like you."

"I like you too," Keith says, and smiles back, but god he wishes that sentiment could come when they weren't surrounded by police and incoming aliens in a grocery store parking lot. Hunk looks back up, and his smile vanishes.

"They are here," he says.

* * *

There's a loud hum as the alien ships come in for landing, leaving the nearby police yelling and scrambling as they realize that they've arrived. They scatter off to the sides, leaving nothing but an abandoned police cruiser between Hunk and Keith and the aliens.

The ships set down in the empty aisles of the parking lot. Keith is distantly aware of a crowd gathering behind him and at the sidewalks and roads around the grocery store, but he ignores them to turn fully in Hunk's arms to face this new arrival.

The ships are sleek white and blue, with an obvious cockpit and wings—if he had to guess, designed for atmospheric use as much as space travel. There are three; as one, their windshields flicker away, and out steps a number of… people. People much like Hunk, almost human-looking but for pointed ears and colorful marks on their cheeks.

Either they shapeshifted before they were visible, so as not to alarm the gathered humans, or Hunk's default form isn't actually default. Not that it matters much since pretty much everyone is alarmed anyway.

The aliens gather somewhat beyond the cruiser, and the one in front lifts a hand and shouts in their language. Immediately Hunk is turning, shunting Keith behind him and taking a defensive stance.

"Hunk?" Keith peers around him to see what's happening.

Hunk holds out an arm to keep him back, though, even as he shouts in his language back at the aliens. Keith ducks down to see under it; the aliens haven't taken up a particularly threatening pose, and there's nothing that looks like a weapon in any of their hands. They must have said something to make Hunk feel like he was in danger; _god,_ Keith wishes he'd brought the fake iPod. Though, the shitty microphone probably wouldn't work from this far away anyway.

The conversation continues, still completely unintelligible to Keith; the policeman catches his eye and gives him a questioning look, but all Keith can do is shrug.

Then Hunk straightens up, and drops his arms. He says something in a questioning tone; when the response comes, he lights up like he does when he's excited. Keith pats a hand against his shoulder blade.

"Hunk?"

Hunk turns to him, grinning wider than Keith's ever seen. "Keef! Exile was… mistake? I can go home!"

Keith grins back, but his stomach drops and he immediately feels bad about it. His apartment is going to feel _real_ empty with Hunk gone; he doesn't want him to leave, but it's not like he can force him to stay, and he has no right to be disappointed. Hunk has wanted to go home for as long he’s known him. He should be _happy_ for him.

"That's great!" he says instead, and hopes his smile doesn't look as strained as it feels.

"Yes!" Hunk pats Keith's shoulders excitedly, and lets his hands rest there. Then his face falls. "But…"

Keith's breath catches. "But?"

"I… want to stay." Hunk hangs his head. "I like you. I want…" He shrugs, out of words.

He _wants to stay._

Keith thinks he's going to combust on the spot. Hunk, who had been kicked out of his home, torn away from his friends and family, and now given the option to return to it all… wants to stay. Because of _him_.

So he reaches up to cover Hunk's hands with his—or at least, try, because Hunk's hands are much bigger than his own.

"You can stay, if you want," he says.

Hunk looks up, eyes wide. "It's okay?"

Keith grins. "Yeah. It's okay. More than okay."

Hunk lights up, and then he's throwing his arms around Keith and lifting him right off the ground. Keith yelps, then laughs as Hunk spins him around. When they stop, he sees the policeman from before watching them uncertainly, hand raised as if about to signal to the rest. He signs to Keith: okay?

Keith gives him a thumbs up over Hunk's shoulder; the policeman nods and lowers his hand, and the rest of the police relax somewhat. Behind them, a couple of black vans pull up; people in black suits and sunglasses step out ( _holy shit it's the men in black,_ says the corner of his brain that sounds like Pidge). And the aliens are still there, just watching. Shit.

"If you're going to stay," Keith says in Hunk's ear, "we have to sort all this out. All these people."

Hunk sighs and nods, and finally sets him back down on his feet. They turn to face the crowd, humans and aliens alike.

* * *

"Sorting this out" turns out to be just as much of an ordeal as Keith thought it would be. He and Hunk stick close to each other through it all, as he tries to explain everything to the feds while Hunk speaks rapidly to his own people. This culminates in Keith, Hunk, and the leader of the aliens—a woman with dark skin, white hair, and pink markings—piling into one of the black vans to return to Keith's apartment to get his fake iPod, and then on to commandeer half the city hall to sort out some kind of diplomatic relations. He has to call Pidge, too ("So, if, theoretically, I got you a job with the men in black—" "I don't know what you're asking but the answer is yes"), since he admits he hadn't done the translation program himself.

And then they all have to spend the night there in the city hall, waiting for representatives from other countries across the world to fly in, because alien contact is a global issue after all.

Somehow, at the end of it all, Keith and Hunk are both named ambassadors—with the promise of a hell of a lot of training and language lessons to come—and sent home to pack. Because apparently they (and Pidge) will have to spend the next six months halfway across the world for that training while diplomatic negotiations continue. By the time Keith stumbles back into his apartment with Hunk in tow, he's thoroughly exhausted and nursing a killer headache. He slumps onto the sofa with a groan.

Then Hunk comes and lifts him partway up off the sofa so he can sit, and settles him back down half in his lap. Keith lazily reaches up and brushes his knuckles against Hunk's chin.

"Glad you're here," he says.

Hunk takes his hand. "Me too," he says.

* * *

"Keith. Keith, wake up."

"Five more minutes," Keith grumbles, and buries his face into his pillow. It's softer than the one back in his apartment in the States, but over the past five months it's become familiar. Preferred, even. Especially right now, when he just wants to sleep more.

Hunk continues nudging him, though. "We have to go soon. You're just being… difficult? Is that the right word?"

"Mrf." Keith snakes a hand out of the blankets to tug on Hunk's arm. Hunk sighs, but lays down grudgingly, and Keith shifts to curl up against his side.

"You don't have time to shower anymore."

"Nobody cares how I look," Keith mumbles.

"Mm, they kinda do."

He huffs and grudgingly opens his eyes. Hunk smiles down at him.

"Morning, sunshine," he says.

One of these days Keith really has to get back at Pidge for teaching Hunk the concept of pet names. He is a weak man.

He grumbles something and pulls Hunk closer to kiss his cheek, and Hunk chuckles.

"You're sweet, but you still have to get up."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"Mm." Keith closes his eyes again. There's a rustle, and then the blanket is ripped away and he's hoisted up into the air. He yelps and flails a moment as Hunk laughs and sets him in his lap, sitting in the middle of the bed. Keith pouts at him.

"That was unfair."

"No. What's that idiom? Everything is fair in… love and hate?"

"I'm not even going to correct you. That's your punishment for waking me up."

Hunk just grins. "You can't stay mad for very long."

Keith crosses his arms and looks away, knowing the gesture is undermined because he's still in Hunk's lap. "Oh, really?"

"I made breakfast."

Keith is a weak, weak man. "I forgive you," he says, and kisses Hunk's cheek again before finally climbing out of bed. Hunk laughs after him. So sue him; the world is easier to face with Hunk at his side.

(And Hunk's cooking in his stomach.)

**Author's Note:**

> find me @[maternalcube](http://maternalcube.tumblr.com/) on tumbl


End file.
